time, truth, hearts
by black-ostias
Summary: rick/michonne/daryl, and all the ways they come together and come apart. COMPLETE.
1. last call for sin

**another repost. oh my marvelous ot3 of perfection. be reunited once more i plea.**

**this is from michonne's pov, by the way. **title from the killers' best song on earth.****

* * *

You can't help but feel ridiculously smug, after all's been said and done. Rick may have been the one to approach you during the winter, shy and awkward in the adorable manner of prepubescent boys, and he'd even gone through the trouble of actually courting you until you finally threw your leg over his and made him forget all his good intentions. He was lovely and he made you feel less hollowed out, but even before you'd gotten together you'd seen how there was something missing in _him_. It was in how he held himself whenever he was around Daryl, how his eyes would gleam just that brighter at the mere mention of his name.

It was in how whenever Rick got caught staring at him, Daryl would just stare right back.

This might never have happened if it weren't for your sheer will, and the fact that you wanted Daryl almost as much as Rick wanted him. So yes, you're entitled to taking credit for the picture painted before of you, and quite a livening sight it is. Daryl's sprawled atop Rick, so blissed out he keeps burrowing his head against the crook of Rick's neck like he's trying to crawl inside of him and hide between his bones. Rick keeps looking to you in wonderment, and finally says, "I didn't know he was a cuddler."

You grin and press a kiss to Rick's shoulder, thoughtless as breathing. Such affection welling back up in you is still so new, yet not unwelcome. And the same can be said for Daryl, it seems. "It's a good thing he is, or he'd be slipping to the floor."

These mattresses you have here aren't the most spacious, but lying like this, pressed so seamlessly tight together, you've made it work. Rick slides his hand down from the nape of Daryl's neck until it stops just above the curve of his ass, and Daryl grumbles something unintelligible before he shifts his legs and presses against Rick's crotch in a maybe-not-so-unintentional move that has you chuckling and Rick beaming like a fool.

It's a good look on him, this disheveled, exhausted yet glowing happiness that only matches how you feel. He's like a lazy tomcat so pleased at finally having caught a scrumptious meal. Considering that he successfully multitasked fucking himself onto Daryl's cock and eating you out a mere few minutes ago, there's no reason for him not to.

Ah, wasn't that fun. Daryl's face as he walked into his cell and saw the two of you together like that is something you won't forget for a long while. The flush on his face that just worsened when he realized you didn't have your hand _on_ Rick but _inside_ of him, and how his jaw dropped when Rick managed to stop groaning long enough to look up at him and gasp out, utterly giddy, "This is great but I think your dick can do a better job than what she's doing."

It was…beautiful. You aren't one for flowery language, not even before the world ended; it was of no use in the courthouse, and sweet nothings certainly weren't going to stop your boyfriend from beating you up every weekend. But as Rick managed to lick at you through the fabric of your panties, as Daryl hooked his deliciously calloused hands around your tensed calves bracketing Rick's shoulders to give himself more leverage to thrust deeper into Rick, as every moan you made was echoed back to you tenfold – nothing else could go through your mind but that word, _beautiful_, over and over until you came a second time from Rick sucking at your clit and Daryl's hoarse cry of completion unhinged Rick as well.

You're dragged back to the present when Daryl sighs blearily and grows lucid again, pushes up until he's sitting back on Rick's thighs. "So is this a one-time thing or…" He trails off and scratches at the base of his skull, somehow managing to look vulnerable and exposed despite the fact that he's still almost fully clothed; he only kicked off his boots and tore off his jacket in his frenetic rush to join you and Rick, already naked on his bunk.

Rick's already shaking his head no, squeezing Daryl's knee in reassurance. "We both want this. Maybe it was just me at first, but Michonne's on board with it now."

Both pairs of eyes dart to yours, expectant and so damn blue it's like you're wading through the sky. "_Definitely_ on board with it," you tell Daryl, allowing just the corners of your lips to quirk up in a leer. "Maybe next time I'll ride you. Not let this guy come or even touch himself until we're done."

The strangled sound Rick makes has you laughing, a deep-bellied amusement that gets Daryl to smirk too, though he still looks hesitant about it. Knowing now that Rick's the one that needs words but Daryl needs action, you sit up and tug him by the collar until you can kiss him. It's your first with him, and his contented murmur and fingertips soft on your jaw feel just as right as the tenderness in Rick's eyes when you finally pull away for air.

Despite your boldness about it, you don't exactly know how this is going to go. You never really thought past the sex; though Carl knows about you and Rick, what on earth will he think instead when he finds out that his dad sleeps not only with you but with Daryl, and at the same time too? Can you even tell the rest of the group about it or is a ménage a trois still considered scandalous? How can you even keep going back out there for the Governor now that you know you'll be leaving this behind?

As though reading your mind, Rick pushes up on an elbow, just enough to reach you collarbone so he kisses that like it will soothe the maelstrom of your thoughts, and it does, a bit. "Let's take this step by step, what do you say?"

You don't really get to say anything because by then his mouth has descended to your breast and all that comes out is a hitched breath. And then Daryl grins and kisses his way down your neck to do the same, all suction where Rick is tongue and teasing, and you thread your fingers through their hair and finally stop running, and just stay, even if it's just for a little while.


	2. so much older than i can take

**kindasorta related to this thing (archiveofourown dot org /works/1081314/chapters/2187917). ****tw for gory nightmares at the very first part. this is from rick's POV, now.**

* * *

Judith's fussing in her crib, soft kitten noises that dissipate as soon as you come up to her. She nearly goes cross-eyed looking up at you, and she squeals in recognition. She holds out her arms as a demand for you to pick her up, one year old and already the boss. You grin and.

Sink your teeth into her chubby fingers, suck the flesh off bone. Only then do you decide to pick her up, never mind that she's screaming and thrashing about, and you go straight for her little belly, that's where the warmfreshnew scent is strongest, you're so hungry –

**Wake up.**

Her clothes are bland on your tongue but you tear through them easily, and her skin is electrifying, it's so wonderful, you almost feel alive again –

_Daryl, we need to do something –_

**I'm trying, but it's like he can't fuckin hear me –**

Someone's crying and you dimly realize it's you –

"Rick!"

Consciousness slams into like a two by four, and you gasp and claw at the arms holding you up, blinking through tears and Daryl's pinched face swimming into view. The ground is biting into your knees, the cold sliding into your marrow, and you recollect yourself.

You're on an offshoot of asphalt in the middle of the night. You nearly died from the infection that set in your leg. The Governor sliced Hershel's jugular open with Michonne's sword. Carl still won't talk to you about what you've lost. The pickup you now possess was taken from a man who threw himself at a pack of walkers. Your group's scattered to the four winds and your baby girl is dead.

Your mind stutters on that. yourbabygirlisdead.

Sobs wrack your throat, and you're mortified to feel that your vocal chords are already raw. If you bring a whole herd down on you just because you can't control your nightmares, what's the fucking point of escaping like this? You twist around in Daryl's grip and see Michonne down the road trying to get Carl to climb into the back of the truck again. Despite the considerable distance they are and how much the fire you've made has died down, you don't think you're imagining the tear tracks on your son's face.

When you find the strength to meet Daryl's gaze again, you feel distraught anew by how he's looking at you. "I'm sorry." You sound like you've swallowed broken glass. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean."

"Ain't your fault." He's not just talking about the dream, you know, but it doesn't comfort you. "Rick, you gotta know by now, it ain't your fault."

You sink against him, not minding that your banged-up hand is still caught between your chests. "You have no idea how badly I want to believe that." You regret it the moment that leaves your mouth; you're like a petulant child who thinks his worries outweigh those of all others.

But he just tugs you even closer, his shaky exhale prickling your scalp as he leans back to sit down and have you fully ensconced in his arms.

Michonne comes to join you, and fits her head to the crook of your neck without a word.

You all stay that way until you feel Michonne shudder from the breeze, and your watery chuckle at that makes Daryl smile too. "Hey, you guys should catch some sleep." You straighten up and rub at your eyes, wince when you accidentally put your weight on your bad leg. "I'll take watch now."

"Mm, I don't know." The lilt in Michonne's voice catches your attention, and you frown at her. She grins and lightly nips at your neck. "I think I need a little warming up first."

"That's a grand idea." Daryl looks positively sinful, all half-lidded eyes and lips curling up like candle smoke, and your stomach plummets a few thousand feet. He reaches over your shoulder to capture her mouth, their tongues sliding together and the sound crawls down your ear straight to your cock.

"If you're trying to distract me, it's working," you manage, though it sounds more breathy than you'd like. Michonne makes a noncommittal sound, inching closer to Daryl until she's in his lap, and they're moving against each other as fluid and powerful as the river meeting the sea.

You let out a helpless groan, making to unzip yourself but Daryl's hand snaps out to curl around your wrist, tugging it firmly away.

"You said you were gonna watch, so _watch_," he rasps, and Michonne laughs at how you splutter in outrage. "Looks like we finally made good on that threat bout you not getting any until we do," she taunts you, already scooting down Daryl's body to work open his pants and squeeze the base of his cock, nose brushing the dark curls there. Daryl murmurs happily, cheeks a blistering color and looking at you like he's trying his damndest not to grin. Smug fucker.

Then Michonne swallows him down almost completely in one go and he nearly screams. He smacks his palm against his mouth, noisy breaths whistling out through his nose, eyes gone utterly black. You whine and your hips buck into empty air, desperate for something to release a little of the blinding heat in your gut, anything. And Michonne shifts to unbutton her jeans, fingers slipping inside and _oh_. That'd work too.

Immediately you move until you're the one plastered against her back, carefully not letting your dick touch any inch of her, curious as you are about how they'll take care of you after all's said and done. "You didn't say anything about me touching you," you bite out, and her stunned moan as you push her fingers aside probably means she doesn't mind.

She's so wet already, and it's easy for you to make circles over her clit and push a finger into her soft folds. From the easy pressure of your touch and how Daryl's groaning "fffuck" over and over, Michonne just sucks at him harder until he finally comes apart, nothing but a curse garbled beyond understanding.

Michonne slips into your lap then, finally frees your cock and you could cry from relief. For a second you think she's going to ride you and you say, already sounding wrecked, "Sorry, d'you want – nngh –"

"This'll do," she tells you, voice hitching but still dark with amusement. One of the many, many things that amazes you about her, this, how she's so silent yet so comfortable in her own skin that every sound she makes feels as if she's tearing cities down. She's rubbing against you fast and directionless, but her knees are locking you down so you can't return the favor. You throw your head back, frustration bubbling up in you anew because you want to fucking _move_.

Daryl, bless him, senses this even in his blissed-out high. He rolls closer and kisses you, his tongue dipping into your mouth so cloyingly soft and that's somehow enough. You whimper, coming almost at the same time Michonne digs her nails hard into your thighs, tremors wracking her until she slumps over you with a sigh.

There'll be bruises on the places you've scraped against the gravel because fucking around under the open sky isn't exactly a wise idea, but you're too blissful to care. Daryl tugs at the hand you used on Michonne, suckles at the tips and you bat him away, laughing quietly. Michonne grins, but then shivers again. "Jesus, has it been this cold the whole time?"

You smile. "Seeing as I'm the only one wearing sleeves at the moment, I can't properly say."

"Smartass." She kisses you and Daryl's bittersalt tang is still there, and you could just lick that taste away until you fall asleep where you are, but yeah, it is pretty cold.

Daryl gives you a hand up and insists that he take watch and you sleep again, no matter how you dissuade him. "You need the rest," he mutters, his lips pressing to your cheek so quick you think you've imagined it at first.

And with everyone left you love within arm's reach, you're lulled into a long overdue slumber that isn't plagued with ghosts.


	3. meaning from the back of my broken hand

**from daryl's POV. last one, here we go!**

* * *

You fell in slow motion and it was funny only because it wasn't – which made it an oxymoron, but the world never made sense even before it became a bigger nonsensical mess. You tripped and stumbled your way through the motions and maybe if you paced yourself a little slower and you weren't trying to live so damn _fast_ it would have been a little easier, but you never did learn how to stay still. Instead you learned how to duck from a hurled beer bottle, a raised belt, a meathook fist. Calm and quiet was a concept that did nothing for you, until Rick and Michonne.

You never had a plan for them.

The stuffed rabbit was a raggedy pink thing, buttons for eyes and yellow thread for a perpetual smile, and it found its way from the shelf of a convenience store to your knapsack because of something Rick said in passing the day before. "Carol gave Judith those plastic cups and that's keeping her occupied, for now," he'd told you, right before kissing you goodnight and wishing you safety on your run.

You headed straight for Beth's cell once you came back, and the girl made herself scarce without you having to ask, which you were grateful for. Judith was on the floor, smashing her red plastic cups together and burbling to herself, though she looked up and started squealing the moment she saw it was you. You grinned and presented the rabbit with a flourish, unadulterated joy bubbling up from your core when her mouth rounded up in wonder and her tiny hands stretched out.

"Hey Lil Asskicker, I'm the friendly Mr. Bunny," you said, bobbing the toy's head up and down like the Muppets on Sesame Street you remembered seeing once, before pressing it into Judith's arms. She squeezed its bean-filled body multiple times, learning the feel of this wonderful new creature, right before promptly chewing on the tip of its ear. You had to fight to tug it free from her teeth and thankfully she didn't fuss over that.

Michonne found you like that, balancing Judith on your knees and rubbing the rabbit's nose into hers so she squealed with delight. "Care to join the party?" you asked, and looked up in time to see the pained dismay of Michonne's expression before she sealed it away. She crouched beside you, still as stone, only reacting when Judith started reaching for her.

"No," Michonne hissed, shying away, and it was a marvel that she was so panicked about a baby when severing heads and limbs didn't faze her in the slightest. Just as you feared, Judith's mouth scrunched up and she started whimpering, Michonne's face in a rictus of unknown emotion when you tried, and failed, to hush her. "Oh, fine, give her here," she muttered once the wailing started, and at first you were relieved, watching Judith settle against Michonne's chest like she belonged there, cooing in triumph.

But then Michonne's lips pressed tight together, tears shining in her eyes as she cradled Judith's tiny body, and it hit you like a train wreck. You wanted to kick yourself for being so blind to what was there, the carefully molded distance Michonne kept putting between herself and the much younger members of the prison, the 'A' pendant hanging from her silver necklace that she'd touch as she stared at nothing in particular. There were some nightmares that didn't have to wait for sleep, and she had done her best to not cave from the weight of them.

"M'sorry," you managed to blurt out, and Michonne's gaze honed in on you in an instant, and you had to look down, ears burning. "I shouldn't have forced you to –"

She placed a hand on your knee instead, tracing the curve of bone in soothing patterns there when it should have been you comforting her. "You didn't force me into anything." Her flimsy smile petered away, and she breathed out slow. "I just. I can't talk about it. Not yet."

You nodded, and now would have been the time to say 'I'll be here whenever you're ready' or something cheesy like that, but you stayed silent, choosing to tip forward and kiss the exposed skin of her shoulder, then Judith's downy forehead.

Footsteps alerted yourselves to Rick's presence, and you found him hovering at the entrance to the cell, wearing dirt and sweat and a little smile itching at the corners of his mouth. You still caught yourself looking for jealousy in Rick's face, even then, but you never found it. His heart was selfish enough – _big_ enough – to hold the two of you close.

"This looks like fun," he said, his eyes somehow glittering even in the shadows of the walls, and the kiss he gave you was thorough enough to have you glaring as he pulled back so soon, and he just laughed, though he stopped short once he saw the wetness on Michonne's cheeks. "Are you okay?"

She paused, glancing at you for a second with a sad knowing smile, before hauling Rick into a liplock of her own. "I am now."

Rick was counting his daughter's toes, singsonging _this little piggy stayed home_ as Michonne held the giggling Judith up in her lap and you scattered kisses in Michonne's dreads. There was so much being left unsaid, so many words that should have been woven into the hopeful air surrounding the three of you, words you still didn't know how to say, but you didn't mind. You had all the time in the world. Until you didn't.

The place you called home was burning, Beth terrified and tucked close to you before the shock was replaced by teenage obstinacy, and then she too was gone. It was a miracle you didn't fall dead from your heart being cloven in two, the worst kind of slow-bleeding wound constantly amplified by your utter loneliness. And then it was another miracle entirely, finding Rick and Michonne and Carl, alive, they're alive.

Rick's gaze meet yours as morning breaks, once again a vibrant star-shaping blue now that he's been rested enough, and you smile back at him, sneaking in a kiss because Carl's not around to be scarred for life.

"Go check what's keeping them with that firewood," he says, his breath beating out a tattoo on your skin.

"Ain't a damn babysitter," you grumble, which earns you a peck on the nose and a soft "please?" for your troubles, and so off you go.

Michonne and Carl are already done with their task, it seems, but they're also talking. Michonne's back is to you and you can only guess as to what this is all about from the wideness of Carl's eyes. "I was gone for a long time," Michonne says as you get close enough. "But then Andrea brought me back. Your dad and Daryl brought me back. _You_ did."

Carl's about to say something, but then he finally spots you. "Um. Hey."

You go to stand beside Michonne, keeping your smile reserved though you want to kiss her too. "Hey yourself. What's takin y'all so long?"

She sighs, the kind of sigh that has you on your toes immediately. "I was telling Carl about us. All three of us." Michonne hesitates, then threads her hand in yours. "I don't know if he's okay with it." She squeezes your fingers and you squeeze back, glad to have an anchor in case things get shot to shit.

But they don't. Carl sets his jaw and straightens his shoulders, tackles you both in a hug that knocks off his ten-gallon hat. "Dad always forgets he needs taking care of," he says, muffled into your clothes. "I'm glad you both can remind him."

A ridiculous grin takes up your face, flooded through with a crazy joy. Carl doesn't sound rusty or unsure, his faith in you absolute, and Michonne's voice makes you feel like falling all over again. "We take care of each other."

And you always will.

* * *

**and now i've come full circle with this arc, seeing as the rest of season four blew this theory out of the water. definitely gonna be writing more about my precious ot3 though, don't you worry.**


End file.
